One Love, One Life
by NightMuser
Summary: Christine has left and the Opera Populaire is ruined, but the Phantom of the Opera will rise again and a young girl will interefere with his plans. Love is hard to find if you have to reach back through time... ErikOC
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **Hey everyone! This is my first Phantom of the Opera fanfic, so reviews are greatly appreciated! And by the way, I don't own the Phantom, Christine or any of the wonderful characters except for Layla and Roxana. Enjoy!

**Chapter 1**

There was fire everywhere. The red-orange tongues of flame consumed anything that came across its path, destroying everything that he held dear. What wasn't destroyed by the inferno was stolen from him, including the one woman he could ever love. Cloaked in the shadows of night, the Phantom watched silently as his Opera House continued to burn with its hellish flames. A fire created by his own hand. As he had manipulated the destruction of his realm, he would rebuild the Opera Populaire, more grand and beautiful than it had ever been in the past. He would never again repeat the mistakes of the past; he would not stray from the darkness that protected him for so long and so diligently. His only care would be for his Opera House, his kingdom.

Turning back to the alleyways from which he had emerged, the Phantom would return to the catacombs buried beneath the Opera House. The mob and gendarmes would have deserted their search of his lair by now. He would retire there to begin the plan for the resurrection of **his** Opera Populaire.

* * *

"Layla? How much longer are you planning on staying tonight?"

Layla glanced up from the badly damaged skull she was examining. Peering through wisps of unruly hair that had escaped from its hair tie, she focused her gaze onto her friend and colleague. The large room they were in was empty of people and dark except for the bright, florescent lights that illuminated the examination table Layla occupied with her specimen. Rubbing her tired eyes with the heels of her hands, she leaned back into her chair, stretching slightly.

"What time is it, Roxana?" Layla asked her colleague as she carefully placed the cranium into the secure crate that was to house it.

"Honey, it's nearly midnight. Everyone already left hours ago."

Roxana watched her obviously fatigued friend as Layla continued to carefully replace the skeleton laid before her into its crate. It wasn't a complete surprise that she was working late, again. The young anthropologist often worked long into the night, decoding secrets from bone. Layla was practically the poster child for the word "workaholic." However, these long nights were starting to extend into the second week, with no end in sight. It was beginning to worry her colleagues and Roxana personally had enough of it.

"It's alright," Roxana grimaced as her friend continued; Layla was always able to read her mind, "I'll be leaving soon. There is just a skeleton being shipped in from Paris that I have to receive tonight."

Roxana frowned, "You mean the one that was found in the basement of the Paris Opera House? Why can't you just have them deliver it in the morning? It's already late enough as it is."

"It's because those remains may be famous, or rather, infamous," Layla smiled, "It's not every day you might be able to examine the remains of a Phantom."

"Only you get excited about meeting dead people," Roxana rolled her eyes with a soft snort.

Layla laughed and shook her head sadly at her friend. Despite their close friendship, Roxana never did understand the passion that Layla had for her work. It was what made every day exciting and she loved it with her entire being. Layla loved being able to look at the bones of a person and be able to reconstruct that person's whole life. To be able to coax stories, past and present, from these remains was the art that she relished in. Not something that her friend, the real artist, could ever comprehend.

"Anyway, I swear that as soon as the remains come tonight, I'll go home."

Roxana watched her friend carefully, gauging the woman's actions. There was no telling if Layla really would keep her word. Yes, the young woman meant well and she probably was sincere, now. But who's to say that Layla wouldn't get distracted, or find something else she'd rather do later on than sleep? Finding no other alternative, Roxana would just have to take her friends word. Sighing, she admitted defeat.

"Alright, but as soon as you store the bones, you leave. Got it? I don't to find you asleep in your office again tomorrow."

Laughing, Layla answered, "Ok, Ok. I promise, now go home."

With one last worried glance at her friend, Roxana turned away and left the young woman in solitude. Quietly and carefully, Layla finished packing up the skeleton that she had been examining earlier and made sure that it was stored securely. Hours began to pass as Layla waited for the Paris remains to arrive at the institute. While she awaited its arrival, she looked over the preliminary reports concerning the discovery of said remains.

Several weeks ago, the Paris Opera House was undergoing some minor renovations to the foundations of the structure to repair some cracks that had appeared over time. At some point during the construction a skeletal remains where uncovered in the catacombs, deep beneath the Opera House, buried in a shallow grave near an underground lake. Instantly, rumors swirled around the solitary skeleton as the press and media proclaimed the remains to be those of the infamous, Phantom of the Opera. This was the entire reason that the remains were being sent to a forensic lab in the United States, instead of one in France. The government had needed an impartial examination in order to put these rumors to rest.

The idea that the remains might actually be those of the Phantom excited Layla. She enjoyed examining remains from different periods in history and hearing the tales as they spoke to her. Who wouldn't want to hold a piece of history in their hands? Just thinking about it made a goofy smile linger on Layla's features. Glancing at her watch, Layla felt her smile falter. 3:00 A.M.; whoever was delivering the remains was certainly taking their time about it. As though conjured from her thoughts, Layla's cell phone began to ring loudly. The men delivering the skeleton had finally arrived.

Relieved, Layla quickly let them into the institute and legally took possession of the remains. The wooden crate was small and simple, only bearing the mark of the government stamp of France and nothing else. Despite all the hype being proclaimed in the news and the French governments 'interest' in the remains, the respect being shown was minimal at best. Even the deliverymen seemed to be uncharacteristically wary of the crate and its contents as they brought it in. Dismissing the men's behavior as superstitious, Layla completed the necessary paperwork and sent the nervous men on their way. All she had to do now was to lock everything up for the night and be on her way home.

"Just like I promised Roxana," Layla muttered under her breath.

Glancing at the simple crate, Layla felt the familiar stirrings of curiosity being to flame within her. She could just take a quick look, that way she could get a head start on the examinations tomorrow. What harm could one look do? All she was really interested in was the skull anyway; it wouldn't take very long. Placing the bag she had retrieved from her office on a nearby table, Layla began to approach the crate.

But she promised Roxana, didn't she? Layla hesitated as she was grasping the lid of the wooden box. Roxana wouldn't have to know that she stayed any longer than she had to. Just one look wouldn't hurt. Gently raising the lid, Layla peered into the confines of the box. Sitting, carefully packaged, the gleaming, white bones were barely visible. The skull was nestled safely towards the 'head' of the carton, wrapped in order to protect the fragile bone during transport. Layla reached inside to carefully lift the skull out of the crate and began to unwrap it from its protective coverings. Finally, the skull was completely bare and resting on the examination table before her.

Gazing at the skull in wonder, Layla knew it was unlike anything she had ever seen before. The left side of the skull was perfectly formed and customary. The artistic side of her filling in the muscle and tissue, seeing the handsome face that would have looked out at her. Other than some healed hairline fractures along the cheekbone, most likely a result of many fights, the left side was completely normal and undamaged. But as she continued her examination to the right side of the face, Layla could see the abnormalities that were quite obvious. The surface was pitted and uneven, clearly showing worn areas of the skull that would have penetrated through the skin, and that was only the bone. The uneven contours of the skull only alluded to the deformities that would have been apparent on the skin itself. Despite the obvious defects, Layla could tell that the man would have been very attractive in his own right. Glancing at her watch once again, she observed the time to be nearing 4:00 A.M.

There was really no point in heading home now, even if she wanted to. By the time she got home, Layla knew she would have only time for a quick nap before she had to come back into work. That time she would have spent driving and sleeping could be better put to use with something more productive. Feeling the goofy grin return once more, Layla realized that nothing would be more productive that creating a facial sketch based from the skull. Rummaging through her bag, she finally produced a well-worn sketch pad and a few charcoal pencils. Layla was beginning to take her seat back at the examination table when the power in the lab suddenly flared with a bright intensity, only to plunge into complete darkness. Startled and cursing, Layla whirled around, feebly searching for the cause of the sudden blackout. She backed into the table behind her in her confusion, causing the skull to rock dangerously and pitch for the ground. Layla lunged, reaching out for the precious bone, only to have it graze her fingertips. Through that contact, something akin to electricity coursed through Layla's body, wracking her with tremendous pain.

Unable to move, Layla couldn't do anything to prevent herself from hitting the cold ground hard. Her head making a sickening sound as it slammed cruelly against the stony floor. Eager to escape the pain, Layla gratefully embraced the darkness that quickly enclosed her.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I would like to say thanks to everyone who reviewed and read my story, I'm glad that you all enjoyed the first chapter. I would also like to apologize for the last minute change in the title. (There was another story with the same one) Again I welcome any and all reviews and hope that you enjoy this next chapter. (Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Phantom of the Opera characters)

**Chapter 2**

A whole year had passed since the fire had consumed the Opera Populaire. A whole year since the renovations had started, led by the new, mysterious owner of the Paris Opera House. No one knew who the newcomer was or what he even looked like, as all business was forwarded through his personal assistants. No one knew that the Phantom of the Opera had reinvented himself as the wealthy Erik Destler. It wasn't too difficult for the former Phantom to clandestinely purchase the Opera House from the ruined managers and become the invisible, aloof, new owner. The previous managers were all too happy to relinquish their shares and leave the accursed Opera House to another poor soul. There was no mistake that the Opera Populaire was physically ruined and that it would take a gigantic effort to rebuild the once grand theater. However, with time, the Paris Opera House emerged from the still-warm ashes of hatred and revenge like the mythical phoenix, more impressive and exquisite than ever before. It had only been recently that the Opera House had once again opened its doors and began performing their productions and business was thriving.

Unknown to the general public, the Phantom's own guiding hand was behind it all. In the guise of the remote owner, the Opera Ghost continued his reign within his realm without the interference of disobedient managers and workers, relaying his instructions through written correspondences, albeit without the tell-tale red skull seals. No one questioned the directives from the owner, as the current auditions were proof. In the middle of the season, it was unheard of for a popular theater to even consider replacing a key singer, let alone the Prima Donna. Although the opera house had only just begun performing, the new lead soprano was quickly become a nuisance. Egocentric and vain, the young Rosa was a virtual copy of the former La Carlotta. When the soprano had first arrived at the Opera Populaire her vocals and behavior were satisfactory for the Phantom. However, that had quickly changed as Rosa allowed her position to go to her head. She no longer cared to sing her parts correctly and treated her colleagues like scum, and the Phantom would stand for it no longer.

The current auditions were being held for the sole purpose of replacing the offending Rosa, but the Opera Populaire seemed to attract ego-bloated harpies like the plague. Massaging his temple gently, the Phantom briefly considered waiting until the end of the current season before replacing the aberrant soprano. The opera house was doing well enough since its grand opening, still feeding off the tragedy of the fire and the stories of the Opera Ghost brought in many spectators who just wished to see the place where it all occurred. They would not care one way or another whether the soprano sang with unneeded vibrato and piercing high notes. Sighing to himself, the Phantom knew that he could not degrade his opera house like that. He wanted everything within his theater to be perfect and the soprano would have to be replaced as soon as possible. However, it would seem that a new Prima Donna would not be found today. Signaling from his private box, the Phantom watched his assistant thank the day's candidates and cordially escorted the women from the opera house.

The young Dunstan had arrived at the Opera Populaire only a few months prior, looking for work as a stagehand in order to provide for his widowed mother and two younger siblings. The Phantom quickly took notice of the young man's skills as a potential business man and manager and offered Dunstan the opportunity to work for him directly. Needless to say, the young man immediately accepted the Phantom's offer, relieved to have work that would better provide for his family. Soon Dunstan had become the Phantom's closest confidant and friend, as well as assistant. Of all the personnel working beneath the Phantom, Dunstan was the only one, besides Madame Giry, to ever see him, albeit always with the white half-mask.

No one would ever see the face of the Phantom again. It was an oath that was solidified the night of the raging inferno and Christine's inevitable departure. Sighing heavily once more, the Phantom left Box Five, still reserved for his personal use, and made his way to his underground home, silently using the dark passageways designed specifically for his use. It would not do for him to dwell on the past, especially Christine. He had made the choice to let her go and he had to live with that choice, no matter the pain that it caused him. He was foolish to begin with, to think that anyone, much less a woman, would want to spend the rest of their life chained to a monster. Enveloped in his thoughts, the Phantom almost didn't notice the soft moan that reverberated through the stone corridor. The noise was so soft, almost sounding like the numerous drafts that whistled through the underground passages, that he nearly dismissed it, but the Phantom's constant caution refused to allow him to ignore it. Forced to investigate, he moved quickly and silently down the passageway, his searching eyes piercing through the darkness as he hunted for the source of the noise. Soon enough, the Phantom found what he was searching for.

Crumpled at his feet was the petite frame of a unconscious woman. Dressed strangely in blue rough fabric pants and thin short-sleeved blouse, the woman's long auburn hair rippled in soft waves, covering her face. The Phantom knelt beside the woman and brushed her thick hair away from her face, flinching slightly at the sight he had revealed. The woman was beautiful, that was certain, with pale, milky skin, long dark lashes and full sensuous lips. However, it was the bloody and jagged gash along her temple that worried the Phantom. The wound was still open and bleeding profusely, staining her face red. Removing his black leather glove, the Phantom briefly touched the woman's pale cheek, his concern mounting even more at how cold she felt. She needed help, immediately. Everyone would have left the opera house by now; therefore no one would find her until the morning even if he took her aboveground. Her wound needed urgent attention and the Phantom was uncertain that she would survive the night without proper care. Unable to find any other solution, the Phantom lifted the young woman gently into his arms, briefly surprised with how light she was. He would have to bring her to his home and care for her there, at least until the morning.

* * *

Everything hurt. The worst of it was the throbbing that pounded her head with every heartbeat. She was also cold; all heat seemed to have been stolen from her body and left her frozen. Through the pain that continued to wrack her body, Layla's mind registered the sound of footsteps and the soft rustling of fabric. Maybe one of the maintenance men had finally found her. Something touched her face that radiated delicious heat. Compared to the cold that seemed to seep into her bones and envelop her that one light touch felt like fire across her skin. The next thing Layla knew, she was being lifted by large, strong hands and being surrounded by more of the fiery warmth. Pain sliced through her head once more as she once again succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

The journey to his home was quick and relatively simple. The Phantom knew he had to get the woman to his lair, warm her and treat her wound quickly. Holding the woman at first was like holding ice in his hands, but as they traveled, she soon began absorbing his body heat as he cradled her small frame against his chest. It was a good sign, but he would have to watch her carefully in the event that she might develop a fever. The Phantom carried the unconscious woman into the bedroom Christine had once slept and gently laid her onto the soft, silken covers of the swan bed. Grabbing a thick blanket from the wardrobe, the Phantom covered the woman's small form before leaving the room to gather his medicinal supplies.

* * *

She was warmer now. It was a great improvement from the biting cold that gnawed at her body moments ago. With her head pounding furiously, Layla forced her eyes open while fighting against a wave of nausea. She must have hit her head when she fell and her body felt unusually weak. Layla's rational mind latched onto the pain and discomfort in order to ground herself against what she saw before her. At that moment, the only familiar sight, or sensation, was that of the pain she was experiencing. The room, and more importantly the bed, was a much different story. Layla had found herself lying in a soft bed of red silken sheets, covered by a thick woolen blanket. The room was richly decorated in a motif that was reminiscent of the early 19th century. This room was obviously not part of her anthropology lab, at least unless the interns had decided to play a rather elaborate prank on her. Taking a deep breath, Layla began to try and sit up in the bed but was hit with another wave of nausea, accompanied with a disturbing sense of vertigo.

"You should not try that," a low, velvety voice drifted from the doorway.

Layla's head snapped up to find an unfamiliar man standing in the entrance to the bedroom, holding a silver tray laden with bandages and a steaming cup of what smelled like tea. He was tall, very tall, with a lean yet muscular build. His hair was as black as night and carefully slicked back, away from his face. Despite the man's imposing stature, it was his face that held Layla's attention. His face held the visage of a handsome man, probably in his late twenties or early thirties. He had full, sensuous lips and piercing golden eyes that flashed dangerously in the candlelight. It was only as a side note that Layla even acknowledged the white, porcelain mask that adorned the right side of his face. He was a beautiful dark god of old, brought to life. Layla was roused from her observations by his wonderfully musical voice.

"I did not think that you would awaken so soon. The cut on your head seemed quite severe."

Layla gingerly touched the cut that travelled along her temple, flinching slightly from the sharp pain her touch had evoked. The silence seemed to have become a tangible object as neither the dark man or Layla moved or spoke. It wasn't until he had cleared his throat that Layla finally responded.

"Yeah, thanks. I hope I haven't been much of a bother for you."

Unable to meet his gaze directly, Layla focused on his lips, a decision she regretted slightly as he began to speak once more.

"You are most welcome."

Moving slowly, as though the man was attempting to not frighten her, the stranger approached the bed and deposited the tray onto a nearby table. He gently brushed Layla's bloodied hair away from her face in order to study the cut more carefully. Layla tremble and blushed faintly from his touch. She could hardly believe herself. She was acting like a silly schoolgirl with her first crush because of gorgeous man barely touched her! Reigning in her emotions, Layla gave the dark man a nervous smile.

"You wouldn't happen to have a mirror, would you? That way I can see how bad the cut is."

The man became completely still, his voice like steel as he answered, "No, I have no mirrors. If you have no objections, I will tend to your wound for you."

"Of course I don't mind. But you need to answer a question for me first."

The man furrowed his brow in confusion, "What is the question?"

"What's your name?"

The man remained silent for a long time as he began to clean the wound on her temple. Layla had almost given up hope that he would ever answer her when he spoke softly.

"Erik."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry that I haven't updated in a very long time, but I'm back. I know that I had up to chapter 4 posted, but after reviewing the story decided that some minor changes needed to be made. After reposting chapters 3 and 4, chapter 5 will be made immediately available. Thanks to everyone who has read my story so far, and I again apologize for the extended hiatus.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original POTO characters.

Chapter 3

It had nearly been a week since Layla had first met Erik and since that day the two had barely exchanged more than two words. Layla was often left alone in her, well his, bedroom, only to see Erik when he brought her meals and to change her bandages. The first few days were a blur as Layla slept majority of the time; her imposed solitude relatively unnoticed. As she began to recover, she found that she was often alone, cloistered in this one room without one invitation or suggestion to leave. Her 'imprisonment' left Layla incredibly bored… and curious. Her greatest fault and weakness. There had to be more to Erik's home as she had been woken up many nights to the sound of organ music just beyond the door. Erik had never explicitly told her that she couldn't leave but his reserved demeanor dissuaded her for a while. Once she had felt well enough to leave the bed, Layla grudgingly contented herself with merely exploring the bedroom, but after dragging it out over a few days there was nothing more to discover. However, that would change today, if she had anything to do about it. Once Erik brought her breakfast, he would leave his home from the rest of the day, only to reappear with dinner. Layla knew that he must be leaving his house, as she would hear no sound from the other side of the door. If he was home, then the man would be playing his organ, or what seemed like an orchestra of instruments, as he would often do late into the night. His music…

Layla sighed softly as she thought of the sweet, passionate music that flooded her bedroom every night. Erik was certainly a gifted musician and she would often simply lie in the swan bed, listening to his music until the early hours of morning. The wonderment she received from his playing was well worth the many lost hours of sleep. Nearly giddy with excitement, Layla could hardly wait for Erik to bring her breakfast. The moment she was certain that he had left for the day; she was going to leave this room and explore the rest of Erik's home, even if it killed her. A soft knock at the door forewarned Layla of Erik's entrance, always the consummate gentleman he seemed to portray. Barely sparing her a glance, Erik deposited the tray of food onto a nearby table before turning to leave. Again, the equally infuriating and intriguing man had left her without even uttering a single word. Maybe she had done something or said something that had angered or upset him, but for the life of her Layla could not think of anything that would cause him to ignore her entirely. She would just have to forget about it; it wasn't like Erik was going to suddenly decide to tell her why he was giving her the cold shoulder. Layla hurriedly ate her breakfast, all the while listening carefully to ensure that Erik had actually left. The man moved around much to quietly for her liking. No wonder her co-workers always seemed to accuse her of the same trait and now she understood their annoyance. Layla waited an hour, just to be sure that he would not return suddenly. She opened the door slowly and silently and peered cautiously around the adjoining room. Her first impression was that the room was very large and utterly magnificent. Dozens of candles lit the room, held in golden candelabrums that glistened in the soft, flickering light. Layla descended the stairs of her bedroom, her eyes searching the room as she did. Now she could understand why it always seemed so dark, Erik's home was actually underground. Why would he want to live underground? Maybe he playacting at being a Victorian Era Batman, that cape and mask he always wore certainly seemed to complete the Batman attire. Now she could add 'Batcave' to the list.

Continuing her observations, Layla turned to the imposing organ that dominated the room. This was where Erik's music originated. Layla let her fingertips brush across the pages of sheet music scattered around the organ and accidently pushing a few of the pages onto the floor. Picking up the sheets of music, Layla piled them into her hands, caressing the rough paper softly. She had always loved music and the notes before her wove a song that was simply breathtaking. She soon found herself humming some of the notes on the pages she held. This certainly brought back memories. She hadn't sung for a very long time, not since college at least. It felt good to even hum after such a long time, but she would never do more than that. She made a promise. Wrapped up in Erik's dark and passionate music and taking comfort in it, Layla didn't notice the presence of the dark shadow behind her.

* * *

He was distracted. Even Dunstan could tell that his employer was not really listening to the current round of auditions being held. Thankfully, the young man decided to conclude the day's work early, dismissing everyone before even the lunch hour. The Phantom knew he could not continue working like this, constantly worrying about the woman residing in his home. But it was not just worry that nagged the mind of the Phantom, there was also a sense of intrigue and fascination that surrounded the woman and permeated his every thought. Not a good idea for one such as him. After that first night, the woman did not ask him any more questions although her eyes were always shining with intense curiosity as she looked at him. Not once did she scream in fear, ask about his mask, or try to escape his home. At the beginning, the Phantom simply regarded it as a result of her injury and the short fever that had followed than actual indifference at his appearance. Now that it had been a week, he could not be sure of a reason. A week! To think that the Opera Ghost had a guest in his home for an entire week was mind boggling, even to himself. Not even Christine lasted that long. Shying away from the thought of the onetime prima donna, the Phantom acknowledged that he should have taken the girl aboveground the morning after he had found her, not matter what her condition. However, he found himself not jumping at the chance to relieve himself of her presence anytime soon. The woman was quickly becoming a danger to him. A light knock at the box's door rouse the Phantom from his thoughts as he bade them to enter. Dunstan quickly moved inside, a small pile of documents in his arms.

"No luck with a soprano today, monsieur."

"Indeed," the Phantom growled.

Dismissing his employer's foul mood, Dunstan continued to Erik's side, handing him the small packet of papers.

"Here is the finance report you requested, as well as the information for the New Year's Masquerade Ball."

The Phantom growled once more, "That infernal event is not to be held for another six months. Why bother me about it now?"

"Because it is actually three months away," Dunstan smirked humorously, "and I had thought that you would like to finish the preparations now, so that you would not have to worry it about it later."

The Phantom had to agree with his friend's logic, although he fervently wished he had refused to hold the ball to begin with. Too many memories of the past haunted those types of events. Dunstan watched his employer as tension filled the Phantom once more. Placing his hand on the older man's shoulder, he smiled at the Phantom good-naturedly.

"Why not take the rest of the day off, monsieur? There is nothing of importance that needs you attention at the moment."

The Phantom nodded silently, gathering the papers in his hands.

"Thank you Dunstan, I believe that is what I will do. Try not to stay too long before you return to your wife."

Allowing a ghost of a smile, the Phantom gracefully walked past his employee and friend, into the dark passageways leading to his home. As he walked the corridors in which he had found her, the Phantom found his thoughts returning to the woman once again. He should make her leave today. She was fully recovered from her ordeal and there was no reason to keep her with him any longer. He could not afford to form any more attachment to the young woman. Thoughts of her was taking up too much residence in his mind, she was quickly becoming an obsession like Christine, though he had barely spoken to this mysterious girl. He had sworn to himself that he would not walk down that same path again. However, the thought of being alone in his home once more caused a familiar ache to begin in his heart. One similar to when Christine had turned away from him. Would every woman he met cause him to instantly think of Christine? Had she completely destroyed any chance of enjoyment in the company of the fairer sex? The Phantom struggled to reign in his emotions as he neared his underground home but his concentration was broken as he heard a soft voice. The voice itself was obviously untrained and a little rough, but there was limitless potential hidden within it. The potential of an entrancing prima donna. The surprise over the sound of the voice was quickly replaced by fury. That music! That was his composition, his aria! The Phantom silently approached his home, emerging from a secret door hidden in the shadows. He instantly recognized the intruder the second he caught sight of that tumble of thick, auburn hair. Hair that he had sometimes dreamt about caressing again. Her back was facing him as the  
Phantom approached her silently. Her humming did not cease until he hold of her shoulder in an iron grip. The woman started in surprise as the Phantom forced her to turn around to face him, his composition still clutched in her hands, _Don Juan Triumphant_.

"What do you think you are doing?"

The Phantom's low voice did nothing to disguise the fury behind it. The woman did not flinch under his hand as he tightened his grip on her shoulder, nor did she avoid his piercing gaze. The damned woman even had the gall to smile at him!

"I think I was humming a few bars from your work. It's very good."

The Phantom's grip tightened even further, barely registering the wince of pain that flashed across the girl's face.

"Mademoiselle, I believe we have a misunderstanding. You were not to leave that room, much less rifle through my belongings."

The woman's gray eyes narrowed in a challenge, "Really? I never got that memo."

Unable to control his temper, the Phantom slapped the young woman, the force of which sent her to the hard ground. In the back of his mind, the Phantom was grudgingly impressed. Not once did she cry out; not once did she flinch or tremble before him, as so many others had before. She only held his golden gaze with her own silver eyes and never said a word. Actions that infuriated him in the same measures that impressed him. Full of his rage, the Phantom roughly grasped the stoic woman's arm and dragged her back to the bedroom. He threw her onto the swan bed before turning and stalking out of the room with the grace of a panther. The only sound to break the silence was the lock to her door turning, trapping the woman within the room.

* * *

Well, she would have bruises tomorrow, that much was certain. Layla continued to examine her shoulder and arm where Erik had gripped her so tightly. She was actually surprised that he hadn't broken any bones; that man was incredibly strong. She had never thought that he would have gotten so angry with her, granted she didn't know all that much about Erik to begin with. Layla puller her t-shirt back on, wincing at the pain in her shoulder and sat back down onto the swan bed with a sigh. Music had filled the room again but it was nothing like what she had heard from him before. This music was angry and dangerous, filling Layla with a sense of dread far stronger than Erik's molten glare. The cliché about curiosity killing the cat must be true, at least for her that is. Twice she had indulged in her curiosity and she wasn't quite certain that she would be able to survive a third. Layla leaned back onto the soft covers and curled up onto her side, closing her eyes as she tried to understand what had happened. As many times as she had replayed the incident in her mind, she just couldn't understand why he would have been so angry with her. It was just music for god's sakes! She probably never should have picked up those music sheets. Now she was locked in a room underground, with a very angry man, who could pass off as Batman on a good day and Hulk at his worst, and she had no idea where she was or how she was going to get out.

"I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry."

A single tear escaped Layla's eye, making a trail as it rolled down her check.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Just a reiteration that this chapter has had some changes to it. Sorry to everyone for the inconvenience.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original POTO characters.

Chapter 4

The Phantom pounded furiously on his organ, pouring his rage and frustration into his music. How dare that vile woman take the liberty to look at his music! She had not right! _Don Juan Triumphant_ was his masterpiece and Amnita was created for Christine. Prying Pandora indeed. The jarring music began to slow as the Phantom felt his anger begin to subside. What had he done? Never in his life had he harmed a woman as he had hurt that woman. Not even Christine, when she had torn his mask away from his face. But then again never had his emotions been so volatile around a woman either. He was completely unprepared for how much the petite woman had seemed to unbalance him. It was just music, not his face. But the thought of Layla prying into his music, his past, his soul, had brought the memory of Christine's betrayal. So much so that as his anger increased, it was not that brave girl he had lashed out at, but Christine. It was Christine that he grabbed; Christine that he hit. In his fury, an innocent woman ceased being herself and became a replacement for a woman he now despised to the core of his being. What had he done? There was no cause, no reason for harming that girl as he had done. All she had done was leave the bedroom and hummed some notes from a sheet of music she had found. What a fool he was, what a complete and utter fool. Despite all his anger though, she had stood strong against him and never cried out or flinched from him. The Phantom ceased playing as he mused upon the strange young woman. During the whole week, the woman was obviously as intrigued about his as he was about her and yet she had never asked him more that his name.

Name! He never even asked the girl was her name was. Placing his head in his hands, he had never before felt as much shame, guilt and remorse than he had at that moment. He had harmed an innocent woman and he did not even know what her name was. His mind was racing in all directions. He should take her to the surface, get rid of her, anything that got her away from him! He knew this though his heart yearned for her to stay, to forgive him, to start over, to give him comfort with her silent presence. Damn the memories that held him back! The one thing he was certain of was the crushing need to apologize. Perhaps there was still a slight chance that she could forgive him. Glancing at the clock, the Phantom realized the late hour it now was. The poor woman must be starving by now. She had nothing to eat since the morning meal and providing her a meal may help him in his quest for forgiveness from her. Leaving the organ, the Phantom prepared a light meal for his guest, absently placing a blood red rose on the tray as well. Women always appreciated flowers; he had seen many men start trying to smooth things over with their women by giving them flowers. The Phantom soon arrived at the bedroom door, knocking softly. No answer. Though he did not expect anything differently, the silence still stung. He quietly unlocked the door and entered. She was on her side, curled up like a child, her rich auburn hair fanned out behind her. Her chest was rising and falling with slow, deep breaths. She was asleep. She looked so clam and peaceful that the only flaw in this masterpiece of beautiful serenity was the bright redness of her cheek, already darkening with bruises and some dried blood from where her lip had split. What had he done? How could he even expect forgiveness from her? A stab of guilt speared its way into his heart; the Phantom placed the tray onto a nearby table and silently approached the bed. He gently brushed the errant strands of hair from her face and gently caressed the abused cheek. His heart nearly broke at the sound of a soft whimper escaping her lips. Glancing at her arm, the Phantom knew that bruises would soon appear there as well as on her shoulder. He was a monster….there could not be any hope that she would forgive him. His gaze returned to her face to find that her silver eyes were open and now watching him warily. The Phantom instantly stood away from her and looked away. His gaze flitted around the room as he searched his mind for those carefully prepared words he had planned to use to ask forgiveness from her. Now that he was face to face with the victim of his misdeeds, he could not seem to find those words. He opened his mouth to speak, to say something, but the woman spoke first, breaking the silence.

"I'm sorry."

Confused the Phantom's gaze snapped back to the woman who, for the first time, was looking away from him, refusing to meet his gaze. What on earth could she be apologizing for? He was about to speak, to assure her that she and done nothing wrong but the young woman continued.

"I shouldn't have been snooping around. This is your home and my actions infringed on your privacy. All I wanted was to…I mean after hearing you play every night I just wanted.." the woman raked a shaking hand nervously through her hair, doing nothing to alleviate its disheveled state.

To say the least, the Phantom was astounded. This woman, who had nothing wrong besides indulge in her curiosity, was apologizing to a man…no, monster, that had harmed and imprisoned her. And she was scared. Of course her voice was steady and she held herself as she always had, with unwavering confidence and strength, but even she could not hide the incessant tremors that shook her hands. Though she was scared, she was bound and determined to not let him know that fact. What a strange woman.

"Mademoiselle…" the woman's silver eyes finally locked with his own, "it is I who should apologize. You were correct earlier that I had not told you of any rules or limitations. I allowed for my temper to get the better of me and harmed you. Please forgive my actions."

The woman's eyes shone with a soft light as she hesitantly smiled.

"I'll forgive you, if you forgive me."

The Phantom allowed a soft chuckle to escape his lips, "As you wish, Mademoiselle…?"

"Layla. My name is Layla," the woman's smile brightened as she extended her hand.

The Phantom grasped it gently and placed a feather-light kiss upon her knuckles. His traitorous heart leapt for joy at the sight of Layla's subtle blush. She had easily forgiven him and was not disgusted by his touch! The Phantom reluctantly released Layla's hand and brought the silver tray to her, noting how her clever eyes instantly spotted the rose. He would have been remiss to not acknowledge that his sudden romantic notion had embarrassed him. Clearing his throat, the Phantom addressed the woman once more.

"I hope you will also forgive the lateness of you supper. I am afraid I rather lost track of time."

Grasping the rose in her fingers, Layla met his eyes shyly, "It's ok. I didn't notice either."

The woman bit her lip, as if deciding on whether or not to speak, choosing instead to eat her meal in silence. Perhaps he was not so easily forgiven; perhaps she was still afraid of him and putting up a brave front. The Phantom was about to give the woman some privacy before her voice caught him once more.

"I was telling the truth, you know."

Turning back to Layla, the Phantom was once again unsure. Was she afraid of him or not? Had she really forgiven him or was this a ploy to earn her freedom? He inwardly cringed at the last thought. He truly had not learned anything at all from the incident with Christine, had he? The first woman he had any contact with since that tragic night and he was already following some of the same parts from the previous script. However, the Phantom could not help himself from playing the part, silently praying for a different ending. Never before had a woman awakened such emotions in him and he barely even knew her.

"The truth about what?"

"Your music," Layla blushed once more, making his heart leap with hope, "it really is exquisite. You are truly are a master of your craft, Erik."

Desperately ignoring the flurry of emotions sparked by hearing his name coming from her lips, the Phantom approached Layla once more. She was still eating from her plate but her attentions were focused on him, waiting for his answer. Slowly, so that he would not risk scaring her, the Phantom sat beside the woman on the bed.

"Thank you, but I am quite sure that it was the singer that made it seem so."

The Phantom inwardly recoiled. Flattery? Had he actually said something so asinine? The world certainly had to be ending if he was actually inadvertently flirting with this young woman. The Phantom was soon surprised out of his thoughts by a bout of feminine laughter, earthy and filled with joy. The sound of which ceased his monologue of self-berating doubts.

"I certainly hope you don't mean me. I haven't sung in ages and even then I was never a professional," Layla gasped through her fits of laughter, "My meager voice couldn't possibly do your music justice."

Feeling relaxed at her cheerful nature, the Phantom smiled at his guest easily.

"While it is true that you are by no means, as you say, a professional, it is still very beautiful."

Rewarded with the woman's blush of modesty, the Phantom felt confident enough to continue. Perhaps flirting was not as hard as he thought it would be. It certainly seemed to gain a different result than demanding a woman's attentions.

"Perhaps I could teach you."

"Teach me?" Her mirth ended with those words and she seemed to quickly withdraw into herself, "I wouldn't make the best student and there's no reason to try flattering me."

That was not the reaction he had expected, but tried once more.

"I would have to disagree. You have the makings of a Prima Donna and I would be honored to teach you."

The Phantom was dismayed to find that her withdrawn mood did not change. For some reason the thought of singing saddened the poor girl. During their conversation so far, he already knew that should he ever want to know was she was thinking, all he would have to do is look in her eyes. Those orbs certainly were windows into her soul and every emotion she felt would radiate from her eyes. His words had not made her happy; they had only seemed to make her uncertain, incredulous and miserable. She really did not believe that her voice was any good. How could that be? That would have to be something he would think over later, as it was evident that his futile attempt at flirting had ended abysmally. He should have known better that to try doing something to idiotic with her. Nearing panic, the Phantom decided to change the subject, but once again, Layla beat him to it. The mistress of redirection.

"So, not to be nosey, but where am I anyway?"

Though he should have expected the question, the Phantom was thrown off and answered automatically, "Paris. Specifically, you are in my home, underneath the Opera Populaire."

* * *

Layla started with such force that she nearly dropped the tray resting on her lap. Thank goodness Erik was already next to he and grabbed hold of it before it fell to the floor. Quickly, she stood and began to pace the room frantically, noticing from the corner of her eye Erik putting the tray a safe distance away. She could practically feel Erik's concerned gaze on her, but she couldn't speak to him, not right now. Just knowing where she was flipped a switch in her mind and her thoughts were flying too quickly to focus on him now. She needed to think. How in the world had she ended up in France, when she had been an ocean away in America? She was so stupid; if she was not so caught up in Erik, in the mystery he had presented her, she would have noticed. How could she not have known, not realized? Continuing her pacing, Layla thought over the events that had led her to awaking in this very room. Waiting for the Paris Opera house remains, the deliverymen, the…. Strong hands gently held Layla in place, forcing her to cease her frantic pacing.

"Mademoiselle? Are you alright?"

Layla met the molten gold gaze of Erik, realization creeping into her soul. She should have known. Looking at this man, with his flawless left side of his face and masked right side, she was certain was the fleshed version of the skull Layla had held in her hands. She was somehow in Paris, in the past, looking into the living face of the Phantom of the Opera.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Finally a new chapter! Thank you to all of you who have faithfully waited for so long and I hope that you enjoy this new installment.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original POTO characters.

Chapter 5

Layla fought to keep her panic under control. Erik would probably take her reaction the wrong was, thinking that her panic would be fear against him. Well there goes the Batman fantasy, she wryly thought, although Batman and the Phantom always seemed a little similar. Taking deep breaths, Layla met Erik's gaze once more, surprised to see concern and not anger flashing in their depths. That was a good sign he wouldn't attack me yet. She could try pretending nothing happened; make up a story that would explain her presence, anything to reassure the gorgeous man that she did not and would never fear him.

"Layla?" Erik repeated her name softly.

Smiling nervously, Layla finally felt confident enough to answer, "I'm sorry Erik, and I guess I panicked for a second there, huh?"

"Panicked?" His arms dropped their hold, "About what?"

Great, now she had to do damage control.

"Well to be honest," _kind of_, "It's the fact that I have no idea how I got into Paris, not to mention the Opera Populaire. I'm not used to not know what's going on."

Layla wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly missing the strength of Erik's arms on her. It was a stupid thought; she couldn't afford to get close to him. Not when she could suddenly find herself home just as quickly as she had appeared here. She knew that she had to get as close to the truth as possible in order for him to trust her, but in order to stick to the truth she would still have to hide the fact about the time difference. She desperately wanted his trust, but she wasn't sure why. She had never needed or wanted to need someone to confide in. Maybe this was all just a really vivid and crazy dream and she would wake up in the lab with Roxanne laughing at her.

'_I will not cry. I will not cry. I will no…damn.'_

She couldn't find the willpower to stop the tears that betrayed her confidence nor could she give up her brave act and turn away. The silence continued for several moments before Erik's strong arms slowly encircled her in a warm embrace, gently rubbing her back. Feeling the tension slip away from her, Layla wrapped her own arms around him to return the embrace; if this was a dream then she could let down her barriers a little and let someone comfort her for once. She felt safe and protected, feelings she had not experience for many years, not since college and her last promise to…

"You are welcome to stay here for as long as you need."

Layla closed her eyes attempting to stop the flow of tears falling. She barely knew Erik, and despite his temper he was still offering her a place to stay. He was so different from the characters he had been portrayed in her time. Yes, the mask and the temper was the same. But no one had ever mentioned the intoxicating power of his mere presence, gorgeous features and more importantly, his gentle nature. Or maybe it was just her dream; maybe this was her subconscious's way of telling her that she couldn't hide forever and she needed someone to depend on. Maybe, but she couldn't give into that wonderful dream, not entirely, not yet.

"Thank you so much. I really do appreciate your kindness."

Layla lost the battle against her emotions, no longer able to hold back her tears and crying for the first time in five years, with her face buried in the fabric of Erik's shirt. Maybe she could give in, just for a little while.

* * *

The Phantom could only hold her and mutter reassuring nonsense as Layla cried in his arms. Crying women always confused him and he had no idea what to do, so he only copied what he had seen other men do for their women. It always looked so feeble, but when actually faced with a crying woman he acknowledged that something must be better than nothing. With each sob, the Phantom's heart ached, wishing to do something to help ease her pain. Was it something he said? Did he need to apologize again? Eventually, Layla began to quiet, her breathing calming with only the occasional hiccup. It would seem that she had cried herself to sleep. The Phantom gently picked up the young woman and placed her into the bed, covering her exhausted form with the soft blankets. Delaying his exit, the Phantom tidied the room a little, retrieved the abandoned tray and watched her as she slept. Leaving the room, the Phantom closed the door; being sure to leave it unlocked for Layla should she awaken. He couldn't make the woman leave now, even if he wanted to. Layla was obviously terrified about her situation and with no where for her to go, he felt compelled to protect the young woman. The Phantom sat heavily on the chaise, sighing tiredly. Never had he felt so many warring emotions, besides loneliness and anger, or allowed himself to get entangled in the lives and problems of others. What happened to the barriers he had created a year ago? It was as though Layla could dismantle those steel walls with one blink of her silver eyes and not even be aware of what she was doing to him. She was dangerous to have around. He had known that and today only proved the fact without a doubt. The Phantom felt himself becoming more attached to the woman with each second that ticked by. He would not, could not, allow a repeat of the events from the past, but he felt helpless against the strong current Layla's presence created. The Phantom stood from the chaise and began to pacing, much as Layla had done earlier. They even seemed to share some of the same nervous habits. Much too frustrated to even try to play, he tired to think of different alternatives for the woman, anything that could help her situation. Perhaps Layla could be moved into the Opera House above. That way she would be safe and still under his care while putting some much needed space between them. If he was not around her constantly, the infuriating emotions would lessen. _As if that is likely_, his mind supplied.

Ignoring the thought, he continued his plans. There would be a slight problem if she was moved into the opera house. She would need to serve some purpose to live there. The Phantom could not just place the girl there without a reason for her presence. Of course he could always write a missive as the owner, but that would create harmful rumors attacking Layla's virtue. No, he could not take the risk of slandering the young woman's name. The Phantom continued to ponder the situation well into the morning hours. Sleep was going to elude him once more, though he a briefly entertained the thought of sleeping with Layla. He suspected that he would sleep well in her presence. His thoughts paused at the sound of Layla's bedroom door opening. He could no longer think of that room as Christine's, that room would forever hold the memory of Layla replacing the dark memories with happier ones. Slipping into the shadows, the Phantom watched silently as Layla's form appeared from the room and moved silently around the lair, searching for something. Possibly him, his heart leapt in hope. His hopes were soon dashed when he saw the dark bruises that mottled the white skin of her arm and face, glaringly obvious to anyone who saw. The Phantom continued to watch her from the shadows as the woman seemed to find what she was searching for and headed towards the kitchen, hidden in a nearby alcove. Perhaps she had enough of his presence and was searching for way to escape him. Not that he could blame her. Following Layla silently and staying to the shadows, he watched as the woman moved around the kitchen, preparing what seemed like breakfast. Perhaps she was not leaving after all. As delicious aromas began to swirl through the air, the Phantom decided that it was time to let his presence be known.

"Why are you awake so early?"

Layla only jumped slightly in surprise as she turned to face him.

"Oh, good morning Erik. Hungry?"

It seemed that the woman would never directly answer his questions. By the amount of food prepared, Layla had already anticipated that he would break his fast with her. He could not allow her work to go to waste and he had never had someone else cook for him before. He nodded subtly, deciding to ignore the light of joy in her eyes. He had to start distancing himself now and could not let her affect him anymore, if that was possible. The meal was eaten in silence, neither party attempting conversation. The Phantom was buried deep in thought once more, deciding on how to tell Layla about the change in plans. To be able to tell her in a way that would not hurt her.

"I don't have to stay here you know."

How does she do that? The Phantom's gaze locked with Layla's, instantly reading the understanding and intelligence within. The girl had to be some kind of mind reader, for he did not think that he would be so obvious in front of the woman. There could not be any other explanation. Clearing his throat, the Phantom struggled for an excuse.

"I did not say that you had to. I had just thought that you would like to get established here in Paris."

Layla arched an eyebrow, "You mean like a job?"

"Of course, and the dormitories in the opera house would provide better housing for you as well."

Emotion flashed through Layla's silver gaze, so quickly the Phantom could hardly recognize it. Given a first guess, he would have to say that it was disappointment.

"That sounds nice. What kind of a job did you have in mind? And no, I will not sing," Layla stated as she rose and began to clear the table, "Maybe you need a doctor, that was my job where I came from."

The Phantom watched the woman bite her lip nervously as she washed the dishes. A female doctor? Preposterous, completely unheard of.

"A doctor? What kind of practice?"

"You could say that my specialty is…" Layla hesitated, "working with bones."

"You set broken bones and the like?"

"Yeah, something like that," Layla continued to avoid meeting his gaze as she dried her hands, "Maybe I could get a position as a physician or physical therapist. Surely there would need to be one on hand for the ballet corps."

Pondering the woman's suggestion carefully, the Phantom had to acknowledge Layla's logic. It was true that the ballet rats often injured themselves during their training and an in-house doctor would be more beneficial than bringing in one of the contract physicians. Layla could also oversee the wellbeing of all those dwelling in the opera house. It would be a job that would keep her busy and away from him, the perfect solution.

"I believe that would be a suitable arrangement. Now we should discuss salary."

Layla shrugged absently, "At this point, I could care less about getting paid. We could call it a fair trade for room and board. Plus, are you the one I should be talking to about this? Shouldn't I speak to the managers or the owner of the place?"

The Phantom crossed his arms over his chest, "Seeing as I'm the owner for the opera house, you do not need to speak to anyone else. Also, I cannot consciously allow you to not be paid for your work. Part of your salary will cover your living arrangement, but you will still need compensation."

Discussions continued for almost an hour as the Phantom attempted to convince Layla to be better compensated for the future job. The girl was far too stubborn for her own good. At the rate they were going, it seemed like he would have to come up with the figure himself and force her to take the money. Although her reluctance was refreshing, as too many others around him were greedy vultures. Damn her for having yet another pleasing quality, it was far too hard to find something about her that he did not like. Time had flown past and he had not noticed his lateness until he had noticed the chime of the grandfather clock.

"I am afraid that I am expected somewhere and that I must take my leave. I'll make arrangements so that you may move into your new quarters and begin your work early next week."

With that, the Phantom collected his cloak and disappeared into the shadows of the lair.

* * *

She knew that Erik was trying to get rid of her. She just knew it. After waking in the bed alone that morning, Layla could no longer deny that this was not a dream and everything was much too real. Layla sighed tiredly as she left the kitchen and returned to the main room. It was only a matter of time anyway. Obviously Erik did not trust others easily and she had crossed that unknown line, not to mention the way she had broken down in front of him. She cringed at the thought of her crying in front of him. It was a foolish weakness that she had shown him. At least he was going to let her stay at the Opera Populaire and not throw her onto the street. The thought of being stranded alone in 19th century Paris was frightening, she would have nowhere to go and no way to support herself, not without Erik's help. Besides, Layla's greatest chance of getting home lied with Erik. Somehow, Erik's skull must have something to do with why Layla had been brought to this place. Until she could figure out how and why, Layla could not leave Erik entirely. She would miss what little company he had given her, but she would have remain objective and get over it. She could not afford any distractions if she wanted to find a way home. Sighing, Layla admitted to herself that things where much easier when the answer could be found in a piece of inanimate bone and not entangling herself with the person it once was.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Ok, we are on a roll! Enjoy and please review!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original character of POTO.

Chapter 6

"Are you certain about this?"

Dunstan could only watch his employer incredulously as the Phantom continued to work through the mountain of papers before him, not once looking up.

"Of course I am certain. I very well cannot just leave the woman stranded in the middle of Paris. We will just keep an eye on her for a while, provide her with shelter and a job and she can leave whenever she wants."

"And what job are we _providing_ her with?"

"Physician."

Dunstan's brow furrowed in confusion, "Physician, I was not aware that women could be physicians."

The Phantom ignored his assistant's statement, though the thought of Layla being a doctor boggled his mind as well. He continued to push his way through the infernal paperwork had to be multiplying the moment he looked away; he could not seem to get a dent in it. All the while, he could feel the weight of Dunstan's confused gaze upon him. The Phantom had known that the boy would have been shocked to hear that he had allowed someone into his lair, least of all a woman! Now he was also providing a home and occupation for her as well. Actions such as these were almost unheard of coming from one like him. That was not to say that he was cruel or uncaring; the Phantom simply abhorred the thought of getting involved personally in the problems of other. They should have to fend for themselves as he had done for all his life. Although Dustan was shocked, the young man was also greatly relieved that his employer seemed to take more than a professional interest in another person.

"Alright, so which rooms should we prepare for her? The old prima donnas' quarters should be quite acceptable."

Christine's old rooms. The Phantom froze as the suggestion filtered through his mind. Layla in Christine's old rooms? No one had ever stayed in the original prima donnas' quarters, not after the fire and reconstruction. Many knew of the history involved with those rooms and stayed far away. The current prima donna, Rosa, flat out refused; her superstitious nature would not allow her to even cross the threshold. The fact that no one entered there was acceptable, even encouraged, for the Phantom, but the thought of Layla moving into those rooms stirred feelings of temptation, worry soon following on its heels. Those quarters would be more than ample for the young woman. However, the temptation arose from the fact she still may be too close to him. When the Opera Populaire was rebuilt, the Phantom also replicated Christine's rooms to the every last detail, including the two-way mirrored door and the passageway leading to his lair. It would be all too easy to watch Layla through the mirror, to take her back to his home… The Phantom threw his fountain pen down and stalked away from the desk, scowling furiously. Already the temptation was proving to be a nuisance and all too alluring to him. Dunstan waited silently, knowing better than to say anything that might anger his employer any further. The Phantom paced for a few more moments before turning towards the door, pausing only briefly to address Dunstan.

"I will allow Mademoiselle Layla to decide on the rooms. Make sure that it is cleaned and aired out so that she may visit in half an hour."

Without another word, the Phantom left the office and stalked down the empty hallways. He would be true to his word and allow Layla the chance to choose. If she decided to take the rooms, he would just have to be more cautious and not allow himself to repeat past events. A course of action that seemed less feasible and more difficult to sustain. The Phantom continued to follow the darkened corridors to his home, how strange that in just over the span of a week, the same walls that whispered with haunting memories of his mistakes begun to hold the memories of Layla, erasing the pain as though it had never existed. Such a strange girl. He had half expected to find Layla going through his music again and humming through the notes but found only silence and the woman curled up on the chaise, reading one of his books. He also noticed that the woman had taken it upon herself to tidy up his lair. His compositions that had been scattered on the organ and surrounding floor had been picked up and neatly stacked; his books and desk had been 'organized,' and she seemed to have even dusted. He checked the clock; he had only been gone two hours. She certainly had kept herself busy. The Phantom approached her from behind and peered over her shoulder to see what she was reading. A medical textbook, he smirked, he should have known.

"You're back early," Layla remarked as she turned the page, not even turning to look at him, "and you're much too old to be snooping."

The Phantom could not seem to help himself as he leaned down so that his lips were right by her ear as he whispered to her, "It is in my nature to, as you say, snoop. Nonetheless, this is my home and I shall do as I like."

A burst of masculine pride ripped through him at her involuntary shiver and the blush that appeared all too easily around him. He, the Opera Ghost, elicited such a reaction from a beautiful woman and it made him feel empowered. Almost like a normal man. Stepping away from Layla, the Phantom internally shook himself. No, he could not think like that, much too dangerous. He removed his cloak and placed it onto the organ bench before he sat in his favorite, well-worn armchair by the fire, facing towards the chaise that Layla was reclining in. She had returned her full attention to the textbook, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration as he read. She was still wearing the same clothes that she had arrived in, the odd coarse, blue trousers and thin cloth blouse that did not seem to have any buttons. Her shoes were off, leaving her feet bare against the silk fabric of the chaise. Her hair had been brushed and pulled back into a long, loose braid. The Phantom found that while he would much prefer Layla to leave her auburn hair down in its loose curls, the braid allowed for him to have an unobstructed view of her storm grey eyes. Those eyes that seemed to see everything and allowed him a glimpse into her soul. She was very beautiful and quite young; she could not be any older than 25. Even so, it seemed odd for a woman such as herself would be unmarried, or at least not engaged. However, there was no ring upon her finger that indicated otherwise.

"You're staring."

The Phantom returned his gaze to her face to see her watching him from the corner of her eye, her perfect lips quirked in a smirk. If Christine was an angel, Layla must be a goddess. He cleared his throat and resettled in his chair. What a foolish thought.

"Of course. You were so absorbed in your reading that I thought not to distract you."

"Uh-huh, sure," Layla laughed as she set aside her book, "So what brought you back so early?"

"Nothing in particular. There was not much work to be done today. I had also found some rooms in the opera house that you may approve of. We may go examine them if you would like."

There. That emotion flickered through her eyes again, what is that emotion? The Phantom could not place what that slight emotion was as it was quickly replaced with a bright smile.

"Sure, that sounds fun. Maybe you could give me a tour of the Opera Populaire too. It would be nice to know my way around."

"Of course, Mademoiselle," the Phantom offered his gloved hand, which Layla willingly took without hesitation.

Still grasping her hand, he led the woman through the dark passageways that once led him to the mirrored door…and Christine.

* * *

Layla's heart was racing wildly within her chest as he continued to gently hold her hand. Caught between her warring emotions, she was finding it increasingly difficult to not let this man's presence affect her. There was something about Erik that was utterly intoxicating to Layla, which made her want to learn everything about him, to understand every nuance. Shaking her head as if to scatter her thoughts, she knew that she couldn't indulge in those idle fantasies. For one, she would leave this place as soon as she was able to return home. She couldn't allow herself to risk her life and livelihood by becoming attached to someone at least 200 years in the past and an ocean away! Erik continued to lead her down the corridor without saying a word to her. The silence was awkward; it never had been between them. There was always a sense of unspoken companionship between them, both content with their own thoughts and never sharing more than what was necessary. Soon, a dim light was seen filtering through what seemed like a door at the end of the passage. A transparent door apparently. Releasing her hand, Erik activated a hidden switch which opened the door with a soft click. He recaptured her hand once more and led her through the door.

The room was exquisite. Large and spacious, the bedroom was filled with golden candlelight that gave a soft, cozy atmosphere. There was a simple bed, wardrobe, vanity, desk and chaise, all made of the warm mahogany wood that Layla had always adored, a changing screen in a corner with scenes of exotic birds flying across the surface, and the roses! There were roses in several vases around the room. Their blood red blooms emitting their sweet fragrance lovingly. Layla closed her eyes and breathed in the aroma. She opened her once more and surveyed the room a second time, almost believing that the whole scene must either be a dream or a cruel joke. The room was absolutely lovely and perfect, but it couldn't possibly was Erik had in mind for her. It was much too extravagant for a simple physician. Layla turned around to find Erik still standing in the doorway from which they came. Hmm, a door disguised as a mirror, through the looking glass indeed.

"How do you like it mademoiselle?"

Speechless, Layla ran a hand through her hair, searching for something to say.

"I-it's lovely and perfect, but…"

Erik's eyes caught hers, "But?"

"You can't seriously expect me to believe that you want to have this room. This should be for some beautiful actress, not some doctor."

Damn she was nervous! Layla wrung her hands frantically waiting for Erik to answer. No one had ever made her this nervous before and it was embarrassing. Surely she had more composure than this; just this man's presence was enough to undo her. Really, she ought to know better by now. Suddenly, gloved fingers grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his golden gaze once more. His thumb traced lazy circles across her skin as she felt herself instinctively relax from his caress.

"This room is yours, if you so wish. However, I cannot think of any other room more suited for one such as you."

Damn, he always seemed to know what to say and damn the fact that her irrational need to blush always gave her away. She couldn't seem to help herself when it came to him.

"Ok, if you insist."

"I do."

The space between Layla and Erik was slowly disappearing, their lips mere inches apart, when a knock was heard at main door. Erik was the first to move as he crossed the room, opening the door and spoke softly to whoever had interrupted them. Temporarily stunned, Layla tried to regain her composure while berating herself for being so affected by her masked host.

"Layla? There are some visitors I would like you to meet."

Layla turned to face Erik with a young man standing on his right and an older woman at his left.

"May I introduce Monsieur Delaney and Madame Giry?"

The young man bowed deeply and the woman gave a small curtsey at the mention of their names. The man then approached Layla, grasped her hand and placed a kiss upon her knuckles.

"It is a great pleasure to meet you Mademoiselle Layla. I hope that you will allow me the honor of addressing me by my first name, Dunstan."

Dunstan smiled boyishly as his blue-green eyes sparkled with good humor and mischief. A full head shorter than Erik and a little more heavily muscled with tousled black hair that fell rakishly into his eyes, the young man was certainly attractive in his own right. Layla found herself returning a friendly smile.

"I would be happy to do so, but only if you agree to use mine as well."

Laughing, Dunstan gave Layla a mock bow, "As you wish, my lady."

Layla met Erik's gaze and arched an eyebrow in question. The only answer she received was an imperceptible shrug and a small smirk. Men. Layla rolled her eyes and moved her attention to Madame Giry. The older woman held herself regally, a cane in her grasp. Her dark blonde hair was pulled into a severe bun and her features schooled into an indifferent mask. She was going to be a hard one to read.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well Madame Giry."

"The pleasure is mine. I am happy to meet the new physician that Monsieur Erik has hired. I am sure we will see each other often."

Erik cleared his throat and motioned towards the older woman, "Madame Giry is the headmistress and teacher of the ballet corps and has been with the opera for many years," he then turned to black haired man, "and young Dunstan had only been with us for a few months but he is a good man and manager, with a _wife._ Both should be able to assist you with any questions you may have and will get you anything you should need."

"Oh. Well thank you. I'm looking forward to working with both of you."

Both man and woman smiled warmly at Layla.

"Well it is getting late and we are starting rehearsals earl tomorrow. I should be getting back to my _wife,_" Dunstan winked at Erik.

He then took Madame Giry's arm and started for the door, flashing another boyish smile over his shoulder.

"I will see the both of you tomorrow."

Suddenly alone, Erik and Layla stood in silence, staring at the closed door before Layla erupted into a fit of giggles.

"Is he always like that?"

Erik rubbed the back of his neck, "No, not usually. However, he is a young man and is quite susceptible to young women, despite the fact that he is married."

Layla laughed again and elbowed Erik playfully in the side, her silver eyes flashing mischievously.

"You know, you promised me a tour."


End file.
